


I'll give you everything.

by Asxidistra



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, But not really but yes, Dream is dumb, Dream is kinda insecure, Hanahaki Disease, I like italics, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Techno doesn't really want to live, Techno has issues with self loathing, This is the personas not the real people, Unrequited Love, good ending but kinda sus, he hates himself, long haired techno supremacy, mentions of the festival, no beta we die like tubbo in the festival, techno hates himself, this is my first work how do i tag, this is purely self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27752224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asxidistra/pseuds/Asxidistra
Summary: Techno falls in love and sickness. The acacia flowers were never more beautiful.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Dave | Technoblade
Comments: 6
Kudos: 180





	I'll give you everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember that this is the personas, not the people behind them!, shipping real people is kinda cringe bro ngl. Also English is not my first language, so sorry if it sounds weird!

That afternoon he had returned to his base definitely more impatient than usual, the almost fresh blood in his fists having no idea who it belonged to, he had no conscience or a way to remember who he had attacked, who he had aimed his crossbow; He did not want to know how many they were, he did not want to know their names or remember their faces.

Yet he knew them all. Each of their names was familiar in his mouth, and their faces all expressed the same disgust, the faces of loved ones who now looked at him with disdain, he was just a traitor to all of them. It didn't matter if he wanted to explain himself, no matter how much he begged or got on his knees, he already knew that they would never show him compassion, they would never wipe the tears of a beast like him, they could _never_ trust him.

He entered the deepest part of his home, already somewhat dizzy from the strong scent of blood drying on his hands, bringing him yet another memory of the situation that had happened just a few minutes ago. He removes the golden crown and throws it to the ground with force, the sound of it hitting the polished stone floor mocks him, while he is able to see his own distorted reflection in the pure gold; He then takes off every piece of clothing, from his tunic to his once white silk shirt, and introduces himself to the wooden bathtub that he normally kept filled with cool water.

The icy water fails to wake him from his trance, and he barely lets go of his hair from the braid, letting the pink strands gracefully rest in the water, which little by little begins to take the faint color of the blood.

_Inhale._

The scent of blood makes him _sick._

_Exhale._

They would forgive him, right?

Because he was on their side, on the side of the revolution.

Right

_Inhale._

Wilbur had taken him by the chin, forcing him to look at Tommy, the boy who was furiously taking off his armor, wiping an occasional errant tear, with the promise of defeating Technoblade on the pit, no swords, no tricks. “Look at how upset he is, look at how much he hates you. _You did this_." His tone sounded almost mocking, as he smiled and invited him into the ring, to teach Tommy a lesson he wouldn't be able to forget.

 _Exhale_.

It had never been his intention to cause a commotion at the festival, he didn't want to kill Tubbo, he was just a sixteen-year-old boy, what harm could he bring to the dictator? Why execute him publicly? And why ask Technoblade to pull the trigger?

For the revolution, he had thought.

 _Inhale_ , and he opens his eyes, looking at his cursed reflection in the water.

Trying to calm down, he decides to start cleaning himself and grabs the sponge, passing it strongly in all the parts of his body that he can feel the dirt, the dark and rotten blood, cleaning until his skin is red and he can't feel anything else, he cleans until a bit of his own blood peeks out shyly but red and impossibly bright.

He takes his time trying to calm his nerves, lower his guard a bit, and not feel like the world is going to end right away. He dries off and dresses again, this time in more comfortable clothes, and goes to the mirror to observe his reflection again, this time a little more clearly. His still wet hair rested gracefully on his shoulders, now clean of the red dirt. His red eyes looked back at him almost questioning his reflection. He hated himself much more than the crowd outside, much more than Tommy did.

Nausea he had felt since he had escaped the festival continued to haunt him, but this time he felt different as if something inside his soul was begging to escape, get out, and be released. The sensation continued to intensify to the point where he began to cough, coughed for what seemed like minutes, as his lungs begged for a break

Dramatically, the small white and yellow flowers began to make their way, until in the most unpleasant of sensations they were expelled from his mouth. In any other circumstance he would have found them beautiful, but now just seeing them caused him a feeling of insecurity, constantly reminding him of what he was, what he couldn't have, what he deserved, and what he didn't.

He felt things for someone who would never be able to reciprocate, and he preferred it that way. He _deserved_ to die that way. After all, the only thing that would kill the dreaded "god" was going to be the one thing he couldn't have; Love.

He was particularly the same person he had faced perhaps a few months ago, his eyes were impossibly green and bright, and his cheeks were decorated with constellations of tiny freckles which he secretly adored, while his hair mimicked the brightest fields of wheat he had seen. Nothing could compare to _him_ , and from the moment he had begun to see the flowers and cough their petals he knew he was ruined.

The pain on his lungs and his throat was still prominent, almost making it impossible for him to breathe. He laid back on his messy bed, desperately needing to feel that he was going to feel better, to make sure that the pain and the number of petals did not increase; And even if it were, let it not be the last time.

He wanted to see him without his mask at least one more time, to make sure the punishment for a bastard like him couldn't be more sweet and bitter at the same time. Even if a few years ago the cure for the disease that attacked him had been found, and the only person who knew about his situation had given him a vial with the antidote, promising that everything would be fixed once he drank it.

How could he dare to extinguish those emotions?

For the first time in his life he had felt such a strong emotion for something other than simply the art of war, for the first time traveling to the castle didn't sound tedious, and kneeling before a king was not so terrible if he could see the knight who always accompanied said man.

But like all things, rumors had also reached his ears, about the new king and his masked knight, about how they spent _too much_ time together, the secrets of the castle and those who habited it spread like wildfire; And he was no one to feel entitled to question the rumors, after all, to the king and his knight, he was nothing more than a bloodthirsty beast who lived for the thrill of battle.

He hid his anxiety under his crown and wore his depression up his sleeve. Eradicating all those emotions with the violence that he always mentioned was why he had come to those lands in the first place. He hid the flowers in shame from the eyes of others because the beast could never fall in love with the knight promised to a truly deserving prince.

So the most beautiful of deaths was what he had chosen. Keeping a secret his situation that worsened day by day, week by week, the number of petals increased, their white and vibrant yellow colors constantly reminding him of his state.

He had escaped death too long, this time he would walk proudly and dignified in his last moments. He would lock himself in his home until his lungs couldn't spit out any more flowers, and they would branch out into the most beautiful of gardens. Each bud specifically dedicated to Dream.

It was pathetic just thinking about it, he had fallen in love with who was supposed to be his rival, the person for whom he should feel only hatred and resentment, the person who had declared the destruction of L'manberg for the pleasure of destroying and breaking those he did not unite under the rule of the inexperienced prince's kingdom.

He grunted once more on his bed, before covering himself with the furs he had collected years before. He barely heard a noise from the hatch that led to his home-base, but the emotions running through his soul and his head were too thick for him to assimilate. Almost on the verge of tears, he began to cough again, expecting that soon a new cluster of flowers would adorn his sheets.

"How is it that you managed to get sick like this?" A soft but friendly voice, joking a little, consulted behind his back, he knew him too well to ignore him, for a few seconds he thought he was hallucinating, or perhaps it was a dream, where the masked blonde visited him to make fun of his misery.

He started to whisper to himself, begging him to please stop, to his own mind to stop tormenting him in his suffering, it had been too long since he had had a peaceful night of sleep.

But by surprise, the voice spoke again, with the same joking tone, and taunting for the other to answer it. "Our alliance to destroy Manberg was only temporary, although I don't think I need to explain it, you've always liked working alone, or so I've heard." He laughs at the end of his own words.

A faint murmur is the only thing that the pinkette could say. "Dream?" as he rolled from his slouched position on his bed, trying to hold back nausea and the coughing as long as possible. "What…?"

"I thought of coming to pay you a visit, after all, you did well this afternoon, and seeing that you fled the place so quickly got me thinking that maybe you were hiding something, but the only thing you have hidden is yourself." He shrugs without paying much attention until he rests his eyes on the pinkette in front of him. And he just blurts out "you look terrible." In a somewhat surprised tone.

"You have to go, _now_." He sounds harsher than he expected and he hates it, at this moment he hates every part of himself, his voice, the way he can feel the dark circles in his eyes, or how some parts of his skin were still resentful of the severity of his cleaning a few hours ago. He makes a weak attempt to get up.

Dream immediately changes his posture and tries to get closer, not knowing what to do with his hands, but he backs up once he hears the man in front of him starting to cough, it's visible on his face that he's sore, and, even so, it is impossible not to see the flower petals that fall at his feet, like a cruel irony, beautiful Acacias, yellow and white.

The white and somewhat disturbing mask only looks at him from above, the smile drawn on it does not change, And he feels like his stomach turn with something else, he feels a tingling in his hands as he silently panics, he doesn't know what to do, whether to push the blonde out of his home or just stay there.

He decides the latter, unable to move or say anything. He's sitting on the edge of his bed and is unable to look into the man's mask, he can only see the flowers, his accomplices, and witnesses to his suffering.

But Dream speaks again, this time his tone is neutral, but without revealing anything. "Techno, tell me who it is." It's almost in an inquisitive way that he asks, but falls on deaf ears, since the long-haired man only stares, with his eyes fixed on the ground, he cannot move, he cannot feel his limbs, he cannot think.

He needs to run away.

But he won't be able to.

"Tell me who is it." He demands again sternly, grabbing him by the shoulders. "I will not let you die in this cave, much less from unrequited love." There is no gentleness in his tone, it's just an order, but Technoblade cannot answer, he cannot be lenient with the blonde's orders, not for now.

"What does their name matter?" He replies, trying to keep his image even at his most miserable moments, but he still doesn't lift his head.

"I will drag you if necessary so you can tell me who it is." He says drawing his sword, which shines proudly against the faint light and finally makes him look up from the flowers on the ground, something inside him ties in knots, and his muscles tense at the involvement of the sword. He knew very well that the sword was not to threaten him, he knew well how the other thought.

"You aren't thinking about-"

He's interrupted again by the authoritative voice of Dream “If you have it so clear, tell me the name; I told you already, I will not allow you to die in this pigsty ”the last part is said almost spitting out the words, the annoyance in his voice is already evident, and Technoblade curses himself for reacting so weakly to his haughty attitude.

"This has nothing to do with you, Dream." His voice sounds harsher than normal, and Dream immediately assumes that his illness must be advanced, he has seen the effect of the Hanahaki on those foolish enough to ignore its dangers in the name of love.

He refused to let his rival die, whom he admired for his talent in battle, the way he was passionate about the most trivial things, even if he mocked him in public, he was able to recognize how much dedication it took him to perfect his rather strange hobbies.

Technoblade could not die that way, he refused and would do anything to prevent it.

The man in question just sighs defeated and explains “I don't want an antidote, and if I wanted to live so desperately I would have already the other persons' head. Don't you understand? I plan to die like this. And I don't need your opinion. " Now he is able to look up and face the subject of worship that his heart had pursued so long.

But Dream refused to recognize the sadness in the eyes of the man in front of him, the resignation was more than necessary to cause him a feeling of discomfort; He felt upset and hurt at the same time, but he couldn't understand why, why did he feel sorry to see his rival twist in pain? Why did he feel a little resentful for not knowing who had made him sick in such a way?

"Go away" Technoblade tells him in a final tone, before getting up with a somewhat imposing dignity, it was clear that he did not feel well, but even in pain, his face remained with impossible seriousness, as he looked at him in a way too cold, too like to be the same man who had admitted to being madly in love.

He straightens his posture while covering himself with one of the impossibly soft white furs that highlighted, even more, his intense and lost red eyes, his pointed ears decorated with various pieces of gold and precious stones; Reminding the masked man that he did not speak to just anyone, he spoke to the "Blood God" as many had claimed him that afternoon of the festival.

Technoblade simply shifted his gaze to the side, trying not to get too deep into his thoughts until the blonde left. He wanted to stay in bed until he no longer felt the pain in his lungs, until he could fall asleep dreaming of the many lives he could have had if he had not decided to become what he currently was.

Because when villains fall, kingdoms never weep.

But Dream refused to accept it, and remained in the same position as before, now being able to look his rival in the eye. "Is it Wilbur, right?" He asks, trying to guess the name, would he eventually find the name, he would confirm it on the man's face; Who just laughed bitterly.

"Wil has nothing to do with this, I already said what I thought." He insists, knowing that it will be useless. And he sits back on his bed, putting one of his hands on his chest, trying to calm himself.

Dream only looks at him through the eyes of his mask. He still can't know what the blonde is thinking, and he's not sure he'll ever understand. He then kneels in front of the bed, stepping on the already abandoned petals, still trying to keep a distance from Technoblade.

He directs his hands towards his hood, gently pulling it back and revealing his blond hair, before unbuckling the mask from the nape of his neck, he leaves it quietly on the floor. The first thing that the pinkette can see is the scar from the duel across his face, right on the bridge of his nose, dividing his freckles in the most elegant way, or so he thought, he who, still not used to his emerald eyes, can't help looking directly at them.

“I heard from Phil that you were sick, so you didn't attend the last meeting, but I never imagined this was it. Wouldn't you rather die on the battlefield? " He tries to reason, sincerity dripping from his expression and words, almost like poison to the fragile mental state of the boy in front of him. “Don't make fun of me, Techno. You can't do this." His expression was as if the other man had just betrayed him, almost ironically so.

"Enough is enough, I'm asking you to let me die in peace." He speaks to him, this time with a louder tone, to which Dream is slightly surprised, but answers him immediately.

“I demand at least to know who it is. Who is the person who will take away- “And he stops himself from continuing to speak, looking to the side with some reproach, and after a silent pause, he looks up at him again, taking part of his long hair on his hands. "I beg you, tell me who it is." And this time he lets himself look vulnerable. he didn't mind kneeling before Technoblade, he didn't mind lying to get the truth. He was going to save him at all costs.

The look of sincere misery the blonde gave him was enough to make something inside of Technoblade crack, his determination to keep the name a secret collapsed, and a couple of tears welled up in his eyes. His chest clenched impossibly, so much so that it was almost difficult for him to say anything at all.

"You- It's you." He finally says it, feeling like something inside him rests, but is unable to look up, unable to feel his hands, much less his legs, and begins to speak again, without realizing what he's doing. "You have tormented me enough, go away!" he yells resentfully at him barely feeling his own tears, before another wave of petals begins to torment him, once again littering the floor in white and yellow decorations.

But Dream does not move from where he's standing, he stares, his expression impossible to read, but it is clear to the pinkette that everything was over, he knows that Dream will never be able or willing to return his feelings, and defeated he falls to the ground on his knees, still looking at the flowers. "Is it necessary for me to beg you on my knees for you to leave me alone?" He spits out the last part defensively and dares to look into his eyes, which look back at him with intense green, reminding him of the forests through which he walked those days when he forgot his name on purpose.

That was all the confirmation he needed, dying like that couldn't be that bad after all.

Dream immediately reacted to his last words, and impulsively took his hand, inevitably drawing the attention of the long-haired man, who looked at him somewhat confused, but it was clear in his eyes that something was missing. Without thinking twice, he began to speak, and he was sure that he would later regret his stupid impulsiveness.

But perhaps that was precisely what he needed. A push.

“I have no idea how to process all this, but; In the first place, you should have told me before. I- I can't believe it." He runs his free hand through his hair a little in disbelief before laughing, probably just because of the nervousness he was feeling at the time. "When I saw the flowers I thought about how I had not realized that you were sick, and how it was possible that you were to fall in love with someone and to top it off that it was me." He sighs before staring into his eyes, hoping the other man would feel the sincerity of his words. “I'm not sure about my own feelings about it. At first, I thought I felt that way because I was excited to finally find a worthy rival. Then I realized that it was something else, a bit different from what I expected, and maybe not - maybe I'm not the most demonstrative person about it, but ... "

No. This couldn't be happening to him.

He had already lost hope.

He was already ready to die.

"You don't need to be this cruel to me." He murmurs, trying to convince himself that what he was experiencing was not real, the man would admit to being in love with someone else and leave his home, at least leaving him to rest in peace his last weeks before the flowers branched out.

This time, he already knows very well that with words he will not be able to express what he thinks, and he approaches little by little, so close that he can feel his jaded but calm breathing, gently fanning his lips. And he kisses him on the cheek, barely letting his lips touch his skin, almost afraid that, if he is too rough, it will break into pieces.

The next kiss he places it's under his right eye, drying a tear that fell disinterestedly on his icy skin. He was not at all sure what he was doing, and neither could he assure Technoblade that he would fully reciprocate all of his emotions in the end, knowing the insecurity of his own emotions. But maybe he could try.

For the first time in his life, he wanted to try.

Then, the blonde takes the man's face with both hands, maintaining his delicate touch, subtly forcing him to look into his eyes, and carefully places another kiss, this time on his lips. Detaching immediately, trying to decipher his reaction.

For the first time, Technoblade let himself cry in public, he allowed himself to cry profusely while Dream just hugged him; The most intimate strangers that could exist were also the closest of friends. That night Technoblade allowed himself to cry without having to explain anything, he knew it was not necessary.

Acacia flowers have never looked more beautiful to him.

And that afternoon, even if the villain had not died, the knight took care of him. He didn't need an excuse or a reason.

They were going to be fine.

_He was going to be fine._

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated, constructive criticism too!


End file.
